The Mister I Married (Romancing the Rogue #3)

Chapter Seventeen

Emmy froze, her pulse quickening as Alex’s implication slowly sank in, his words resounding throughout her mind.

I suppose we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?

Her throat was suddenly very dry, and she pressed a hand against her fluttering belly as if she might feel some intimation of life there. It was a fruitless effort, of course, but there was no denying the very real possibility that she could have a child growing inside her right now.

A child .

She might be a mother in only a matter of months.

Saints be.

“Emmy?”

She looked up and met Alex’s gaze. “Yes?”

He swept his eyes over her face, his brow knitting. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” she assured him, the reply instant though not entirely truthful. “No, I’m fine. It is only that I am—” She broke off and drew in a breath, her gaze on her half-eaten apple as she deliberated over how honest she should be. “I—it is a curious feeling, realizing that I might be a mother soon. I’ve never given motherhood much thought before and I have to admit, it scares me a little.”

It more than scared her. It terrified her.

“I think every parent must feel that way,” Alex said. “You are not alone.”

Emmy pursed her lips. “But I have so little experience with children. I have no idea what to do with them, or say to them, or if I will do right by them.”

Or if I will love them as a mother ought.

She set her unfinished apple on the grass beside her lemonade and wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to picture herself as a doting mama.

She had never been an affectionate person, and she was fairly certain she hadn’t a nurturing bone in her body. Would that change with the birth of her first child?

Or would it simply…not?

“You are the most capable person I’ve ever met, Emmy,” Alex said. “And you have a kind and giving heart.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, grateful for his words, even if they did not totally dispel her fears. “I admit, I am rarely intimidated by a new challenge, but the prospect of creating a life, and helping to shape it into an actual person…” She shook her head. “ That is intimidating.”

Alex’s smile said he agreed with her. “I know it is.”

“I want to do right by my children. I don’t want to do anything to make them feel defective, or less than good enough. I—”

She broke off, feeling vulnerable, like she’d said too much. Revealed too much. Restless now, she crossed her legs and busily straightened her skirts about her knees.

“Your mother loves you, Emmy,” Alex said quietly. “Anyone can see that.”

Her cheeks warmed. Was she really so transparent? There was something almost unsettling about being so easily read.

“I know she does,” she said, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. “But I can’t help thinking sometimes that she would have liked a daughter who was a little more like herself, and I don’t want to make my children feel that way.”

He reached out and took her by the hand, stroking his thumb soothingly across her palm. “You won’t,” he said with conviction, illogical but appreciated. “I’m scared, too, but we will figure it out together.”

Emmy nodded and gave him a small smile. Rationally, she knew he was right. She knew she was not the only woman to feel this way about impending motherhood but knowing that did not make her feel better about it.

Logic, however powerful, could not totally dispel her fear and worry.

She thought she had entered into this marriage with both eyes open, and perhaps she had. She knew what was expected of her. She knew Alex wanted children.

The problem was, she did not know if she truly wanted children.

She didn’t exactly not want children. To be honest, she didn’t know how she felt, and that was an unusual and uncomfortable feeling for her. Having children of her own had always been an abstract idea, one to be considered later, in the future, should she ever marry.

Now she was married, and the idea of motherhood was not so abstract, and that left her feeling as though she were standing on shaky ground.

“Are you ready for dessert?” Alex asked, the question a welcome distraction from her uneasy thoughts. “I hope you like pineapple.”

Emmy nodded, her eagerness genuine. “I do, and I am always ready for dessert.”

He reached into the basket and pulled out a plate bearing an enormous slice of sumptuous frosted cake.

“Come here,” he said, flicking her a smile as he sliced into the cake with a fork.

Emmy shifted to his side of the blanket, tucking her legs beneath her skirts before reaching for the fork.

“Not a chance,” he said, pulling the fork away. “If you want a bite, I shall feed it to you.”

She pursed her lips. “I am perfectly capable of feeding myself, Alex.”

His smile widened, crinkling his eyes at the corners. “Humor me.”

With mock exasperation, she leaned forward and dutifully parted her lips.

He fed her the bite of cake, which she had to admit she enjoyed rather a lot—the cake itself was delicious, of course, but even the act of being fed was surprisingly satisfying.

She hummed her approval, licking crumbs from her lips.

Alex’s eyes locked on her mouth, intense, sparking hot with erotic interest that sent fireflies skittering through her belly.

He fed her another bite, and then a third, seemingly content to watch her eat in silence, and Emmy savored the rich pineapple frosting as she stole glances at her husband, admiring his warm hazel eyes and thick brown hair stirring beneath the breeze.

“Will you not have a bite?” she asked, her gaze dipping to his mouth.

He smiled and proffered the fork to her. “I would love a bite.”

Ignoring the fork, she instead reached down and scooped up a generous gob of frosting with the tip of her finger. She held it out for him, her offering but an inch from his lips, and cocked an eyebrow expectantly.

His own brows rose, surprise then pleasure flashing in his eyes, and he bent forward and drew her finger into his mouth.

Her gaze trained on his lips as they closed around her fingertip, his tongue wet, swirling, licking her finger clean before releasing her.

Desire bloomed in her belly, swift, potent, impelling her to swoop in and press her lips to one corner of his mouth.

She eased back, meeting his gaze, and murmured, “You missed a spot.”

His smile deepened, and she leaned in and kissed him again, full on the lips, tasting his smile, touching that same spot with her tongue this time.

He groaned against her mouth, a throaty, needy noise that excited her, stoking her desire, both to find pleasure and to give it.

Breaking the kiss, she set the fork and plate aside on the blanket then tugged her skirts up and climbed onto Alex’s lap. She straddled his hips, her gaze locked on his as she wound her arms around his neck and fell into him, her core pressing deliciously against his hardness.

Her lips found his again, and he kissed her back ardently, his hands sweeping over her back and hips and buttocks.

“Emmy,” he rasped, “is this wise?” He nipped her lower lip with his teeth.

“Wise?” she mimicked, her brain hazy, hands trembling with need.

“My hour with you must be nearly over,” he said, his breath hot against her jaw, her throat. “Perhaps we should be packing up instead? I know how busy you are.”

His words slowly penetrated and she drew back, both perplexed and affronted, until she caught sight of the teasing glint in his eyes.

“Oh, shut up, do,” she said, battling a smile, and when she kissed him again he was laughing.

She fumbled for the falls of his trousers, her fingers clumsily undoing the buttons, and Alex sucked in a sharp breath as she freed his erection. She stroked him once, twice, her kisses feverish, her core drenched and aching.

Without a word, she rose up on her knees and widened her thighs, sinking low and taking just the head of him inside her.

Alex swore, his hands clamping around her hips as he surged up, giving her more of him.

Emmy gasped, sucking in air as she let herself fall, sheathing him, all the way to the hilt. She rode him, pumping her hips faster and faster, frenzied now with the promise of release.

“God, Emmy,” Alex gritted out, “you’re too good, too gorgeous. Can’t—wait—”

She came hard, clenching around him, her climax shuddering through her limbs and stealing her breath.

With a guttural shout, Alex thrust his hips up one final time and then he stiffened, throwing his head back as his orgasm ripped through him.

Afterward, he fell onto his back on the quilt, pulling Emmy down with him. She collapsed beside him, gasping for breath, her heart knocking against her ribs. She flopped onto her back, her muscles as soft as melted butter, and gazed up at the canopy of willows above, feeling positively marvelous.

They had made love precisely fourteen times now, and each and every time she was certain it couldn’t possibly be as good as she’d remembered, but it always was.

In fact, it was better.

She wondered, idly, if it would always be so good.

“Thank you.”

Alex’s soft voice drew her gaze, and she found him watching her, his expression serious, his eyes intense. Almost tender.

Unnerved, Emmy slipped on an impish smile. “Thank you . Every picnic should end so agreeably.”

His lips twitched with humor, but he shook his head, not to be distracted. “Thank you for marrying me,” he said as he turned onto his side and raised himself up on one forearm. “I like being a husband more than I thought I would, and that is because of you.” He smiled and gently cupped her cheek with one hand. “You are extraordinary, Emmy. And I am so thankful you chose me.”

His words stunned her, the affection in his smile warming her straight through, and she could do nothing but stare up at him, agog.

“Now,” he said briskly, “I think it is time we returned to the house, don’t you?” He climbed to his feet and held a hand out to her. “Our hour together is well over, and I don’t want you angry with me for detaining you.”

Emmy slipped her hand in his and let him tug her to her feet, still trying to dispel the effects of his earlier words while she brushed away the crumbs from her skirts. “How could I possibly be angry with you after such a lovely outing?”

“I don’t know,” he teased, “but anything is possible.”

She rolled her eyes at him and then the two of them began packing up their picnic things, filling the basket with their half-finished meal.

A few minutes later they were on their way back, walking at a leisurely pace toward the house as they chatted amiably about everything and nothing, but all the while Emmy’s thoughts never strayed far from the memory of his words.

He was glad he’d married her.

He thought she was extraordinary .